Something Like Something That Might Be Love
(Lucy & Lorcan)
the angels are singing, words written for you
trumpets are telling of your beauty and truth
but you've been working it out for yourself like some over-achiever
so just be my master and i'll be your fever
.
They meet on the train.
Him and his twin, all blonde hair, brown eyes, identical grins, only one is real and one is not.
Her and her twin, all red hair, freckles, and Weasely.
She sits in their compartment.
(That's something like the beginning.)
.
"You know, I think this might mean something."
.
He's been playing guitar since he was 4 and managed to clumsily pick up his fathers.
He's been playing drums since he could use his hands and was drumming on his mothers head and his brother's arm and his father's leg and everything else he could reach.
He's been writing since he could hold a pen, even if it was only scribbles on the wall. (His mother encouraged the creativity.)
He's been starting things since he was born, too.
.
She's been drawing since forever.
(Only her father didn't encourage drawing on the walls, or drawing in general. He wanted her to learn to read.)
She's been singing since forever too.
(Only in the shower, though, where no one could hear her.)
.
Lysander&Lucy&Lorcan
(It's some kind of twisted perfection, made up of love triangles, or maybe squares, and a trio of perfect little brown-eyed pretties, with happy smiles on their face, because they are them, and you are not.)
Lysander&Lorcan
(They were kind of just each other, until that girl came along.)
Lysander&Lucy
(Something kind of like fire, burning brighter and brighter, only the thing with fire is, it can't keep burning forever.)
Lucy&Lorcan
(And that, my friends, is true love.)
.
"We are so starting a band."
.
It's the first practice.
And Ly starts, drum beat slow and steady, building up pace.
Lorcan follows, the guitar filling in the spaces, and she knows this song, it's the one he wrote about her eyes and the moon –
And then she goes.
(That's when the magic fills the air.)
(The special kind.)
.
The thing with Lucy and Lorcan.
They're not shy.
They might be quiet, but then again, anybody is when they're compared to Lysander 24/7, but shy.
Shy is not the right word.
Because, see, the thing is:
Lysander plays a mean drums and Lorcan beyond knows his way around a guitar and Lucy can sing.
So it's like this:
Lysander's sort of like the face, except he's kind of in the background. All wild hair and wild eyes, in it for the fun, and a manic obsession with playing the drums, with keeping the rhythm. He might he something like the glue.
Lorcan writes songs, scribbles them down on whoever's arm happens to be available or, if he's lucky, a scrap of paper, and sometimes they end up in Lucy's drawings, and then he'll strum, strum magic little chords to go with those perfect words. And then he puts it together and plays, and the crowd goes wild.
Lucy's just the pretty girl, the front girl, who kind of pretends not to like singing, but that rush she gets when she's on stage, it's something like happiness.
.
(It's transfiguration class.)
And Lorcan's hand is on hers, guiding it for the proper motion, and stopping when he gets an inspiration, writing with messy ink on his hand, four black ink drops splattering on to her hand.
The world fills with the sound of Lysander's laugh.
She might be ready for this, she thinks.
.
It's a stage.
Dark and smoky and kind of shiny, sprinkled with somethinglikemagic (the special kind, the kind that's kisses and hidden smiles and a pen across a page, instead of floating feathers and turning worms into shoelaces and bright white light) and it's a little bit perfect.
It's an audience.
A crowd of redheads scattered about, here and there, practically climbing on the stage, and skulking back by the bar. Other colors too, blonde and brunette and all the shades in between, colors merging like green and blue and silver and red and yellow and gold.
It's a song.
Lorcan wrote it, but that doesn't really surprise anyone. And the chords melt together perfectly, and the riff is times just right, and the beat makes you want to dance, and the words make you want to sit still and listen.
It's a voice.
Sweet and simple, but with this dark undertone to it that sort of puts goose bumps all over his body, in the second-best way possible. (The first is when she's next to him.) Singing his song, swaying perfectly to his chords, and it's enough to make him want to explode.
It's a boy.
(And he's just the other Scamander)
It's a girl.
(And she's just another Weasely)
(And it's something like the love they talk about in fairytales.)
.
Mmm.
First NextGen Peice?
I have mixed feelings about it.
Review?
(Belongs to JKR, Lyrics at the top to the Villagers.)